like the coward that he was
by consumedly
Summary: Wanings: season 3 spoilers, m/m Slash! violence, gore, etc. Stefan hated to remember, it made him crave… Disclaimer: I do not own anything but the plot!


The first thing that captured Reaper's attention was his scent, that deadly sweet scent that clung to all vampires but tinted with, what he now knew was, the werewolf side of him. He was a mystery to him, a vampire but not quite, dead but not entirely.

It was easy to trail him, since he and that sister of his left quite the pile of bodies behind. Stefan suspected they knew of his fascination with them and their style of killing. He didn't like to meet competition but after observing them for some time, he had to admit that they weren't. They were much better than him.

After a while, Ripper became restless. He expected it to be harder as he approached them but was relieved when it wasn't. She had been the entry so he took it and what an entry she was. Stefan liked to feed with her, to fuck her raw in the middle of their last kill for the night. Yet, when he sat across from Klaus, trying to figure him out, he couldn't suppress the same thrill that ran through him since he caught the first drift of his scent down an alley in LA.

He rarely fed with them. Rebekah said that it was their habit, each could have his own fun and share only if he wanted to. But having seen a flicker of the animal Klaus kept at bay, Stefan couldn't let it go. That was the moment when she'd started to withdraw.

He knew he was going too far too fast but didn't care, he had to have him. When he asked for her assistance, he knew that he had crossed the final line and yet couldn't bring himself to care. He had always liked to rationalize - it was an old habit of his, so he told himself - that she'd always join them. It wasn't as if Klaus would leave her, even if he was the greedy bastard he knew he was. He could share.

Their first kill was a brutal one. She was a sweetheart, literally. When Klaus bit down on her heart, blood flowing freely, Stefan gazed at him, craving a taste. So that's what he did.

His tongue twirled around Klaus's, chasing her flavor as he bit his tongue, drawing more of him. Right there was also their first fuck. Stefan would not ever forget how he'd howled in pain, stretched from the thick cock ramming into him as he arched wantonly. The sweet pain from his bite made him trip over the edge as he screamed out his name.

Or that's what he thought he wouldn't forget anyway. A few weeks later, he was standing in a bar surrounded by casualties, wondering what the fuck happened to him.

That's why after so many years and countless dead rabbits behind him, remembering what they used to share made him cringe. He hated remembering, it made him crave. He craved their... whatever they had and that fucker enjoyed every damn second of his inner turmoil. Klaus was waiting for him to lose it so that's the one thing he didn't do. It was his only way of winning and he tried his best to make sure that it was the one thing he got right. But it didn't matter which role he played, he knew that was the one game he could not win. It was pointless to try but he did anyway...

No matter how many plots for his downfall or his final death, he made Stefan always know that he would wake up with a hard-on, dreaming of the best cocksucker he'd ever had. He often found himself daydreaming of their first night together while gazing into Klaus's eyes. He lied through his teeth, trying to not get caught and at the same time asking himself if it was worth it, if they all were worth it.

He hadn't fucked him since he was compelled to remember. It was impossible to do so when that was the one thing he craved above all.

He stayed. He ran. He killed. He left him.

And finally he desiccated him. As he pressed his hand against Klaus's chest, feeling his heartbeat slowly coming to a halt, Stefan wanted nothing more than to cave in. He wished that he could simply withdraw his hand and walk away, leaving this Godforsaken town to his curse and never have to look back. But that's the one thing he couldn't do so he pressed further and watched as the life was drawn out of him, his skin stretching to expose the dark veins beneath. Stefan felt his forceful movements as he tried to fight them off when they became weaker with every passing second. The wonder shone in his eyes as he watched his Ripper betray him one last time.

Stefan wanted to drive Klaus to his final resting spot as Damon referred to it. He figured he owed him that much, the problem being that he and he alone should be aware of his whereabouts. So that left him hanging on a thread. He might just free him and feed him a pint or two, then leave him to fend for himself. He had always been good at it, staying alive. However, the exact same thoughts left him here, rooted to the spot, as he waited for Damon to find a van and drive him away from here. Away from him.

Stefan took a tentative step, then another, then another… until he stopped at the left side of the coffin. He placed his hand on top of it, slid his fingers along the crevice, wanting to pry it open. To lift the lid and look at the man that had once ruled his every action, directed his every kill. The man that he had longed for, for nearly a century.

Like the coward he was, he didn't want to see Klaus just lying there, bound and helpless. He could not face the eyes that already haunted him. He would walk away. He would walk out of the basement and continue to do so until there was no one around and then.

Then he'd scream.


End file.
